


Duck Family Moments

by koboli



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Additional are mentioned!, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post Quack Pack, Sibling Bonding, s3e2 tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koboli/pseuds/koboli
Summary: It’s unconscious, but Donald clamps his beak shut with his hands.“I didn’t know you could still sing!” Della says, quickly breaking the silence.
Relationships: Della Duck & Donald Duck
Comments: 8
Kudos: 203





	Duck Family Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the second episode of season 3 and some of s2!! i had some feelings

The boys have long left the houseboat, not before each giving their uncle a hug and allowing him to fuss over them. Something that deeply touched Donald in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. He looks back at the picture and takes in the action poses of each beloved member of his family. Made more special by being taken by his oldest childhood friend.

It had been so long since he’s had any sort of contact with Goofy - his wish, as unintentional as it was, wasn’t deep enough to bring out decade-old longing for friends. Goofy’s appearance was a happy accident. Although it’s fair to say the entire wish was an accident. 

Yet when Huey was feeling delirious, and Donald knew magic was involved, he couldn't bring himself to say a word. He couldn't put Huey's worries to rest because he was too blinded by safety. Just as he's been throughout the triplets' lives. And in his efforts to preserve the wish and not suffer any more losses he was... denying his family of what connected them. 

It wasn’t until Goofy had explained it, using his own family as an example - suddenly making Donald very aware of how he had never done anything to stay in contact with his old friend - but in the moment Donald could only feel grateful to have somebody so patient there to explain what was making Donald feel so apprehensive, even in his perfect world.

He focuses on the photo, trying to let unformed doubts and insecurities still swimming under the surface, drift away. His family is together, he gets to see his sister, sure his life outside the wish still feels episodic to him, but he can blame that on his luck. It feels like every day there’s some sort of event or setback for him. 

However, unlucky outcomes, or grudging insecurities can be worked out organically. Sitcom scripts aren’t necessary for life. As much as Donald would like to be able to rehearse what he says, or above all… be understood…

Every member of his family had been changed in some unsettling way, but his own change… Thinking about it causes the duck to gently touch the base of his throat. He looks at himself in the photo, so confident, so _heard_. 

Donald’s sighs even sound hoarse - and it’s something he’d usually be used to. If the confident sound of his own NOT-voice were not still ringing in his memory. Before his wish, he would think about Gyro’s pill and how it made him feel respected. He had yearned for it when his beak was muzzled on the Moon. While stuck in in the cell, imagining the What-Ifs that could have happened if he were understood by the Moon Creatures.

He’s teetering towards dangerous territory, one not so easy to let drift away. Instead, he focuses on his precious photo for another moment,. The most abnormal photo to come out of a wish for normalcy. But it shows every member of his family at their most united. It’s perfect, even if his life isn’t. 

The hand on his throat twitches and he hates being so aware of something he had come to terms with so long ago. Some imperfections were glaringly obvious. 

Sounding pathetic, he lets out another sigh, his hand falls to rest at his side, and the nag of silence roaring in his ears finally becomes too much. 

“Aw, phooey,” He says, pretending to not notice his own cringe at the sound of his voice. “I’m making fish stew.” and in doing so, he boils his worries away for the time being. A meal is an easy way to insert himself into his family. As they stick to the mansion, while he sticks to the boat. After everything, spanning far further than any accidental wish, he needs the connection.

As he cooks, the duck can’t help himself. He starts with a rhythm in his head, which becomes a hum. A little dance, a smile upon his beak. He’s chopping veggies, and throwing them into the pot with little abandon. He adds ample seasoning and finally starts to sing. Almost immediately, a part of him wants to stop, but he doesn’t. It’s routine to sing while working in the kitchen, and he won’t break routine even when some wounds are fresh.

Whatever he’s singing is random, and wordless, and in his mind absolutely butchered - but it’s okay. He can accept his family and… he can accept himself. 

His stew reaches a point where it doesn’t need constant attention, and his singing fades off. Donald is left with a feeling of accomplishment, and even hears some applauding in his head to illustrate-- wait, applauding?? 

The duck spins around, to see his sister at the foot of the stairs, with a huge smile on her face. 

It’s unconscious, but Donald clamps his beak shut with his hands. 

“I didn’t know you could still sing!” Della says, quickly breaking the silence. Donald's skin burns with embarrassment, but She wastes no time approaching him and sticking her head over the pot and sniffs a couple times. “And you still can’t cook?” She laughs. “Some things never change.”

It takes a moment to relax, Donald finds himself laughing too, more in anticipation for what he was about to do. “Oh yeah?” Then he shoves a spoonful of the stuff right into Della’s beak and he starts laughing in earnest as she overdramatically sputters.

“You know what.” She says after drinking an entire glass of water while Donald giggled. “It actually wasn’t that bad. I’m proud of you, bro.” She says humorously, but the joking compliment still hits Donald somewhere deep in his chest. Just like when the boys hugged him.

“It’s nice being able to cook whatever I want for myself after, uhh…” He trails off, taking in the sight of Della. He can’t think about those months he spent on the island, without a deep pang of empathy for his sister, who endured years of isolation in a place much less familiar than some lonely place on Earth.

Della can obviously sense where her brother’s thought process went, and her face twists in a mixture of wanting to stay positive to help her brother, but unable to keep her own footing on a chasm of social anxieties. 

She powers through. “Scrooge actually hired a professional chef for a week or so after I came home. She was amazing - made everything I asked for. And then she introduced me to this weird ravioli that made me actually CRY. I had no idea flavors could do that! But to be fair, the only flavor I could visualize for a reaaaally long time was black licorice.” She sticks out her tongue in disgust before laughing. 

Donald doesn’t see the joke, but he smiles with her. Mostly appreciative and proud of her effort to stay grounded. He returns the favor, and finds his ego - a bit dusty and untouched, but easily inflated if need be. “I’m gonna cook something for you, and it’ll be so delicious you’ll do more than cry!”

His sister snorts, and shakes her head. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep, this is just an example of what’s to come.” Donald puffs his chest out and confidently slaps the pot his stew is simmering in. Which is very much still hot, and he shouts in shock - very nearly tipping the pot all over himself. But Della is there in an instant, using her prosthetic foot to gently kick it back to balance. 

The twins remain frozen for a couple of beats, before Della rises from where she had balanced on her hands - so she wouldn’t fall from standing on one leg. Her brother laughs sheepishly, before his adrenalin drops and his hand’s throbbing is too much to ignore. 

Della’s struck by how familiar it was to save Donald from mundane misfortune. It was another something she hadn’t realized she missed. This was the normal she had been missing for so long. Donald had been making his own wishes but, in reality, Della’s had already come true. 

“You’re _wel_ come,” She says, jokingly petty, mirroring how she sounded when they were kids, teens, young adults… and now inching towards their 40s.

“Yeah, yeah,” though his back is turned, Donald responds, just as he did before as well, “what would I do without you?” 

The silence stretches on longer than either Donald or Della had let it - both of them on edge around any sort of silence. Donald turns around, shaking his hands dry as he does so, but the sight of his sister causes him to falter. 

Della’s eyes are filled with tears, and it’s clear she’s holding something back. Words, sobs, or regrets, Donald can’t quite tell. Probably all three, and Donald feels that pang of empathy from his webbed toes to his bill.

“Della,” He starts, needing to end the silence, but not sure what to say. 

“You did it, though. You did it all without me.” Della says, trying to contain herself. She wipes at her eyes, and Donald is reminded of all the times he’s admired, sometimes even envied, how strong his sister is. 

“I thought of you every day--” He says before being cut off- not cruelly, Della instead seems a bit far off. 

“Yeah, probably pissed off at me,” She says, not wanting to look at him. 

“I was angry at everyone.” Donald reasons. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” More than ever, he needs his words to be understood. For his sister who never gave up on him, but it sickens him that he can’t say the same. He hesitates, and eventually his sister’s still teary eyes flick over to him in worry, and it bolsters him.

“I thought about how much you would love each of the boys. How proud you’d be of their first steps.. I could see so much of you in each of them every single day. I-It would scare me sometimes, Della, but, at the end of the day it made me so proud. The boys are so passionate, and do incredible things. Just like you.” He says, followed by an awkward cough. 

Immediately, he is enveloped in a massive bearhug by his sister. He feels something in his back crack, but he doesn’t mind at all. The novelty of being able to hug his sister - having her be physically present has yet to wear off, and likely never will.

Della is freely crying, softly, and Donald hopes it’s relieving for her. “Thank you, Donald,” Della expresses, hoarsely

“I’m so, so glad you’re home, Della.” He mutters in return, burying his face against her shoulder, he lets himself cry too. For Della’s lost time, for how desperate and selfish he feels from his wish, for the stress he’d put on the boys. 

The twins each feel a bit raw, and after a couple minutes go by, they finally pull away from each other. They feel a little silly, but it’s obvious they had both needed this moment. Donald feels more in tune with his sister than he has the entire time she’s returned, and he can only hope Della knows she can come to him and he’s capable of keeping his cool, and being supportive. 

“So why’d you make fish stew and not something actually good?” Della asks, and it prompts Donald to launch into the fundamentals of saving money while living on the sea. He feels in high spirits, and only has to repeat himself a couple times for his sister to understand the humorous lecture. Della mentions they need to go fly fishing, and Donald’s eyes positively lit up. 

Up on the deck of the house boat Donald's nephews and niece are piled with their ears to the door. All four of them ecstatic to hear the siblings getting along. Webby is crying, but she got pre-emotional about this as soon as she saw Della approaching the houseboat.

Tomorrow there will likely be another adventure. Donald looks forward to it. It’s normal, and that’s exactly what he wants.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading!


End file.
